


Sound of Submission

by hanyou_elf



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Deaf Character, M/M, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what the sound of submission sounds like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound of Submission

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hab318princess on livejournal for the BDSM_fandom Valentine's Swap Fest.
> 
> Many, many thanks to obsidian_lace and zhem1x5 for hand holding and making me finish this when i struggled with it. All mistakes are my own!

Clint's eyes fall shut as the cool silk of his blindfold caresses his cheek teasingly. There is only trust here, in this moment of vulnerability; in this moment of giving everything to the man who had proved time again that he was worth the risk. The blindfold is a tie, one of Phil's lesser used ties. A cornflower blue, he only wears it to the office when he wants Clint to know they need time together in this: this display of submission and dominance, of trust and control.

His mouth falls open instinctively, his tongue slides across the dry landscape of his lips as Phil curls the material firmly around his head. Phil's hands work deftly behind his scalp, the tie knotted together in a tangle of dark blond hair and silky tie. He doesn't have to wait long for anything to happen. Now that he's blindfolded, every single thing Phil does is telegraphed through touch and reassuring whispers. But this is only temporary. Phil will ask him to remove his hearing aids, to give up the last vestiges of his own control before falling into that submissive headspace they both love. It's difficult, to give that much power to somebody else.

But Clint will do it because he trusts Phil. The man has never lied to him, not if it could be avoided, and Clint appreciates that in a man who is watching his back. Even more because he trusts his heart to this man. Phil's hand, calloused from the gun grip, perfumed by years of paperwork, traces across his cheek just below the tie. The touch is gentle and affectionate, soothing before the rest begins.

"Clint, your color." It isn't a request or a question. It is a demand that his Dom has made, and Clint is compelled to obedience.

"Green, sir," he answers.

Phil's hand lifts to his cheek again, the movement mirrored on the other side. Fingertips caress the bottoms of his earlobes and Clint nods. This is where trust in Phil becomes important. After his hearing aids go, there will be only touch and smell, until Phil gets him on his cross. It was purchased as a joke, a gaudy purple and black thing that just demanded the full attention of a room. He hated the colors, but he loved what Phil could drag out of him while he was on it.

Almost perfect silence fills his world as the aids are pulled free. There's an involuntary reaction when his heart speeds up and his breath is a terrified panting, but then he calms. He's safe, surrounded by the comfort of the home he and Phil have built, engulfed in the safety of Phil's scent: citrus and spice and sweat from a hard day's work. He can feel the understated strength of his lover- his powerful grip and the reassurance as he grounds Clint. He lets himself breath, and smiles when Phil flutters fingers against his chin.

Clint answers silently with the sign for green. His pointer finger straight as he shakes his hand confidently. When on the cross, they use a simpler form with just initials, but with his range of motion unhindered, Phil expects the full signs.

Phil pats his chest, above his heart, and then disappears. He steps away and takes his touch with him. For a moment, terror runs through him- alone, in the dark, naked, and deaf. He remembers when this was normal, when this was how he made a living in his training years at the hand of Trickshot. He was bigger and stronger and better than his mentor ever would be, but the flash of fear courses through him regardless. He's kneeling in their bedroom, the carpet warm beneath his knees and feet. It's soft, faux shag for evenings like this. The subtle scent of oranges and lemons fill his nose and he forces himself to relax. That's the smell of Phil, and with Phil beside him, he's safe. 

He doesn't stop the quick intake of air when Phil's hand taps his shoulder three times before he touches him. The hand feels large against his naked shoulder, soothing as he grips the shoulder firmly before he runs a hand down Clint's chest. Clever fingers skate over skin before they press against Clint's nipples, nails plucking at the peaked skin curiously. His back arches and his mouth falls open with a moan he can feel his throat making but can't hear. He licks his lips and shivers when Phil's lips cover his own, stealing his breath. Warmth covers his body when he feels Phil kneel beside him. Their bodies are close enough together that he can feel Phil's inhalations with his own exhaling.

Phil's hands slide up Clint's thighs and over his hip. He presses a kiss to Clint's shoulder and tightens his grip before he moves away, rising. Clint follows the silent command and pushes himself upwards. The darkness shifts silently around him, and he wavers as he spreads his feet to find balance. Phil's hand wraps firmly around his wrist and pulls. Clint vocalizes his shock before he stabilizes against Phil's firm body. His hands catch on Phil's body, smooth and hairless skin. He rubs the soft skin adoringly before a kiss to his collarbone stills him.

Clint follows when Phil pulls. He walks slowly, his steps small and timid as he follows. Fourteen small steps and then the firm smoothly polished wood of his purple and black cross is against his hand in Phil's. He knows exactly what he needs to do, and braces himself with his hands at his side against the cross. Cool wood supports him as he waits for Phil's careful guidance in binding him. He inhales the rich, clean scent of Phil's cologne and natural musk and forces himself to relax. Phil's hand comes up to flutter against his chin and Clint makes a "y" and twists it.

He likes giving his control to this man, but he can't resist the natural inclination to fear. Phil doesn't judge him, instead he grounds him. Phil's hands wraparound Clint's, his hands up by his head. Phil presses against him, mostly naked skin warm and familiar against Clint's naked body. Lips firm against Clint, Phil kisses him softly but commandingly. It's enough to help Clint calm down so he can breathe normally.

He signs green for Phil when the slow, lingering kiss ends. His right hand is dropped and he holds it at his side obediently while Phil stretches his left upward at a forty-five degree angle. The press of his naked chest against Clint's has the blind man breathing deep, relishing the fresh scent of his capable lover. His wrist is wrapped in soft, supple leather and belted firmly enough that he can't move it. At Phil's questioning tap in the middle of his palm, Clint wiggles his fingers and makes the sign for green. Phil rewards him with a kiss at the bend of his elbow before the actions are repeated on the right.

The right is his dominant hand, and he always has to struggle with maintaining his calm. He doesn't like having his right arm bound. But when Phil taps his palm to judge his ability to continue, he breathes deeply and signs green for Phil. His reservations are normal, but he knows he is safe in Phil's strong arms. He could do anything the other man asked of him.

Soft lips press against dry and the taste of salt and stale coffee fills his mouth as Phil's tongue dances with Clint's. He fists his hands before turning them to cling to the rope holding the cuffs to the cross. The heat of Phil's body disappears until the soft touch of sure hands against his ankles. Clint lifts the left and Phil guides him to the small footrest. He repeats the action on the right, careful to ensure his dominant side is tied last.

Before they started this tonight, they discussed the tools Phil would use. He would start with a feather, progress to a small crop, and finish the evening with sex. Before each change, Phil would write the letter in Clint's chest. Phil presses a small kiss against his knee, tracing a scar from a bullet. He'd lost a lot of cartilage, but surgery and rods and pins had saved his knee from being a total loss. Phil's hand slides up his right thigh, massaging firm muscles while the left cups his unscarred knee. Clint controls his breathing, inhaling four seconds, hold for two, exhale four seconds and repeat. Phil kisses the side of knee and his hand slides around Clint's thigh, stroking the taut muscles firmly. 

He teases Clint slowly, and the archer moans in pleasure. He can't hear himself, so he hopes it's loud enough, but considering he hasn't stopped, Clint thinks it's okay. There's a brush of a hand against the underside of his sac and he rocks against the slide of Phil's warm hand on the too sensitive skin. He shifts his legs wider and the hand conforms to the swell of his body, a finger against his asshole and thumb along the steely rise of his cock.

But then the warmth that is Phil's lean body is gone, replaced with comfortable air along his naked skin. It's as much a tease as anything else Phil could think of. He tries to keep himself from jumping when Phil's hand falls on his shoulder but fails. The calloused hand slides comfortingly over his chest, across his nipples and up his right arm, stopping only when competent fingers circle Clint's wrist. It's a reassuring touch that they came up with together, so they can reassure each other.

Clint drags a deep breath in and offers the room a smile. He signs a green and is unprepared for the cool slide of pointed metal down his chest. It leaves a warm path, and Clint knows if he could see it would be leaving red streaks of teased skin that he would want to explore. Phil liked to tease with the promise of potential pain. The sweet difference between pain and pleasure, between what really felt good and what teased the nerves. Each session left him trembling with pleasure and overwhelming sensitivity and sore in all the best ways.

They had a close call today. Somebody had made it into his nest while he was busy protecting his teammates. He'd taken a couple of well-placed kicks and a coded message about dropping support before he'd been able to take care of the intruder. He'd been gathered up by Phil in medical and forced to endure a quick searching of his body before the doctors had been able to come in and see to him.

Here in their home, he knows it's only a matter of time before Phil is satisfied that he's okay. And Clint doesn't mind at all. Finds he prefers it. Phil's concern is intoxicating. And Clint's bill of health means he can do just about anything. He leans back into the cross when the cool metal of a dulled arrowhead presses against his collarbone. Phil's hand on his wrist tightens questioningly and Clint nods. The touch disappears and then, teasing.

The arrowhead slides over the skin of his collarbone, left to right. Phil is holding it sideways so the flat side teases him. It's an arrow he never used at all. His arrows, even the decommissioned ones, are kept in peak working condition, except for this one. One never knows when one needs an arrow. Phil had wanted an arrow he could play with and not worry about doing serious harm.

Air moves past his face irregularly, Phil is confessing to him while he drags the dull tip up the center of his stomach. His breath is bitter: peppermints and coffee. He'd been worried about Clint. It's a relief, burning warm in his gut to know that somebody like Phil cared about Clint. He relaxes against the cross and groans when the arrowhead slides across his pelvis.

There is a brief burst of pain in the ridge of muscles along his hip and he moans loudly, certain there's pain in his voice, but unsure. There must have been though because Phil pulls the arrow away and Clint is left alone. There is no contact between the men and Clint panics for a long minute. 

Phil's hand returns. It falls on his shoulder before it slides across his shoulders and up his arm to his wrist. His breathing calms enough that the fluttery feeling of panic dissipates enough that he can focus on Phil's warm, his unpleasant breath, the stench of his sweat.

He makes a 'y' sign and licks his lips. He's good to go; he just needs a little slower. 

Phil kisses him and squeezes his wrist in understanding before he steps away. The cool air in the bedroom rushes around him and he shivers. Something softer than the arrowhead returns to his chest and slides back and forth, tickling his nipple. He arches into the touch and bites at his bottom lip.

He moans when the wispy ends of the feather slide down the center of his chest, stopping when it reaches his belly button. He shivers and licks his lips and there's no warning before that cool touch of a feather slides over the engorged flesh of his penis. His dick is hot and heavy, and he wants more. The feather circles the tip teasingly and when Phil pushes the feather against his chest, it's wet and cold and a little disgusting. But hot.

He mutters Phil's name, can feel the word in his throat, hopes his lips form the right shapes as he says his lover's name. He trembles, his hands fist against the chains that hold him still. He forgets sometimes just how much Phil can drive him crazy when hes teasing. Phil likes to drive him to the edge and then send him careening over with a smile on his face. He lets his head fall between the intersections of the cross arms, resting on the wood that supports him. Its comforting and delicious. The feather slides down his stomach, tracing the ridges of muscles with a wet tip. His hand slides up Clints side, mimicking the path that the feather takes. And then the heat of Phils body disappears and theres warmth at his hips. Clint bites at his bottom lip when Phils hands caress his shaking legs, his lips gentle as he presses against Clint's thighs. Phil's fingers flutter against his stomach and there is no warning before warmth and moisture surrounds his dick. Phil's mouth is sin. His teeth are covered by his lips, just a bit dry and chapped. His mouth bobs rhythmically over Clint's dick, delicious and exactly what he wants, but not enough.

Clint moans, unsure whether Phil can hear him or not, he forces his hand to make a g. He tosses his head back and groans as pleasure courses through him. His hips leave the body warmed lacquered cross and Phil's hand comes up firmly enough to press him against the cross, holding him immobile. He grunts and clenches his eyes shut behind the cornflower tie, heavy with sweat and tears.

Phil has taken him to the limits of his control and thrown them away completely. He likes the way it feels to be taken apart so completely, to know that Phil will break him in only the right ways. He licks his lips and wishes he could hear Phil's sloppy sucking. Phil is good at it, but he likes to use a lot of spit, and he likes to tease.

He moans when Phil swallows him down, his cool nose pressed against the flat of Clint's pelvis. He holds the position for what feels like an eternity. Clint loves that about Phil. He's willing and able to swallow him down. He's not anything spectacularly large, but he's nothing to be ashamed of either. Not many men are willing to take him like that.

Phil pulls back, his lips curled around the flared tip and his talented and evil tongue traces at the leaking slit. Clint wishes he could watch Phil suck his dick, but his master hasn't given permission. Their bedroom is kept at a constant comfortable seventy-five, but when Phil pulls his hot mouth away from Clint's dick, what's usually so comfortable feels freezing. He shivers and knocks his head against the cross, the g in his fingers shaking as he tries to keep from thrusting into Phil's talented but teasing mouth.

He's begging, and he hopes it's loud enough to be heard. He sounds like he's screaming in his head, but he knows the reality is that he's probably barely murmuring loudly enough to be heard over his own panting breath and Phil's, if the frequent puffs of warm air against his stomach is any indication.

Heat engulfs his dick again in rhythmic movements and Clint can't breathe as heat pools in his stomach and explodes before he can control himself. He moans, desperate and relieved as pleasure owns him. Phil swallows; he can feel his throat working, his tongue pushing at the iron hard shaft, throat working around the too-sensitive tip.

He lets himself go lax, content that the bindings will support him. He has no warning before Phil is standing, pressed close against him. Phil's hard dick is pushed wetly against his thigh, above his knees. He wants to give his ass to the other man, but he's exhausted, worn-out with everything that Phil's put him through. He loved every minute of it, but now that he's sated and trembling, he's useless.

Phil kisses his chest and braces his hips with powerful hands. They push his thighs close together and Clint forces himself to stand on legs that threaten to drop him. There's the brush of cold fingers between the muscled flesh of his inner thighs and Clint grins at the implication.

Phil's hands slipped over his skin, moistening a spot for Phil's pleasure. He presses a kiss to Clint's shoulder and withdraws his hand. Clint knows how this works, what he needs to do for his lover. He loves the feel of Phil rubbing against him, his soft dick pressed between them. Phil's body presses against Clint and he's surrounded by the smell of Phil's subtle cologne and the pungent tang of hard earned sweat. He's engulfed in the sweltering heat of Phil's naked body, chest to chest, hip to hip. The cross hadn't even moved when he'd climbed up.

He waits for Phil's confident hand to move Clint's softened dick, presses it against his pelvis and takes his spot. His mouth claims Clint's mouth, demanding and insistent as he presses his dick between Clint's thighs, the turgid length edging along the emptied loose skin of his sac. Clint can taste Phil's moan when he closes his thighs, squeezing the dick. Phil's tongue slips into his mouth and it's not long before Phil is shuddering against him. His movements are controlled and demanding. Clint submits completely to his master, and when his controlled thrusts deteriorate, quick hard pushes against him, he knows it won't be too much longer. 

Heat spills over his thighs, down his legs. Thick and viscous fluid slips over his skin and the kiss breaks. Phil's mouth is against Clint's, but he's just breathing through the orgasm. 

Phil's hands slide up his sides, his whole body braced against Clint as he breathes steadily. There is a moment of just leaning, capturing the intimacy of this spot, their time together. Clint kisses him softly, teases his panting lips with confident lips. Now that they've had their time together, the balance of power and excitement more than enough to bring them back to the equal footing they carry.The blind comes off and Clint blinks into the twilight dark of their bedroom. He turns his head and smiles at Phil. Theres pleasure in Phils blue eyes and a small smile on his handsome face. The lines around his eyes are crinkled up in sated amusement. He mimes the gesture of unbuckling a belt and Clint nods, grateful for the time he got to find the steel he needs in his previously trembling legs. Theres a moment when Phil disappears and then the chains on his wrists move. Therell be a long bath, a deep massage and then the comfort of their oversized bed. For now though, theres Phil, his slightly balding head at Clints shoulder taking his weight as the chains finally fall away, and a kiss against a sweaty shoulder.


End file.
